


bear me no witness

by wartimelovers



Series: take you, my love, like a street cut drug [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Kissing, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, based somewhere in s3 and in a better universe, they smoke elias' weed kiss a little and discuss dumb things thats it thats the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartimelovers/pseuds/wartimelovers
Summary: Sometimes life turns out in a way that finds you breaking into the office of your eldritch horror of a boss, and then you find weed. What else can you do but smoke it in the archives with your two best bros?or: a crack fic written for cat palmcitrus. what it says on the tin.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: take you, my love, like a street cut drug [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884178
Comments: 32
Kudos: 155





	bear me no witness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palmcitrus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmcitrus/gifts).



> hello everyone you may have heard of my fluff that makes u cry, now get ready for a crack fic that makes you exhale through your nose on ocassion 
> 
> as mentioned they smoke weed in it a little but not really described in great detail. 
> 
> written for my always right partner in crime cat palmcitrus x 
> 
> as always hope you enjoy everyone!

Jon had learned how to pick locks way too early in his life, if you think about it. That is not to say that there _is_ a proper moment in one’s life to learn it, but at thirteen, he should have been thinking about tits, apparently, as Tim had helpfully told him on one occasion. Well, he wasn’t. It was one gloomy afternoon when he found a small book on code-breaking, coded languages and, hello, lock-picking, and burned through it in one night, with a small torch under the covers, way past the time he was told very sternly to _go to sleep already_. The codes were interesting enough, sure, but it wasn’t like he had anyone to send coded messages to, but lock-picking? This could be useful.

(Mostly for when he would grow up to become a pirate, he thought at the time, but you know.)

So he practiced and practiced on his bedroom door when Grandma wasn’t home, eventually moving to the front door, the school’s classroom door, once, heart pounding in his ears. Lastly, Grandad’s study, which Grandma always kept locked. He was alone in the house that day, Grandma was away at a funeral and wouldn’t be back until next morning. He spent the night curled up under the blanket, eating biscuits (and knowing the scolding he was going to get when Grandma inevitably discovered he had the whole pack without asking first) and reading through Grandad’s letters from the front. They were oddly fascinating, even though he rarely talked about the war itself. Jon couldn’t understand why Grandma kept this room locked.

None of this was even remotely relevant to his current situation, maybe except for the origin story of his lock-picking abilities. He shook his head slightly and smiled triumphantly when he heard the lock click open. One quick glance over his shoulder, and he entered the office of Elias Bouchard.

It didn’t matter why Jon was there, exactly, but it was extremely important that he found this one form that he’s learned about from Gertrude’s notes, as clumsy and unclear as they were. He closed the door gently behind him and his eyes landed on the big mahogany desk situated in the middle of the room.

The desk proved harder than the door. Each drawer seemed to have a different key opening it and Jon was thanking heavens that Elias was invited to lead a panel on women in academia, of all things, followed by a three-day cruise in the North Sea in order to meet an important donor of the Institute. Whatever. Jon was glad he was out of the damn place. He felt the lock of the top drawer on the left give in and pulled it open. There were some neatly stacked files in there, and three identical pens. Jon took the files out and placed them gently on the desk and was about to start looking through them when his gaze landed on something written on the bottom of the drawer.

No, scratch that. It wasn’t written on the drawer. There was a piece of yellow tape with **4/20** written on it with shaky handwriting. There was a bad hand-drawn picture of an eye beneath it.

It was a secret compartment, of that Jon was sure. But what could Elias possibly try to hide in his top drawer, so poorly hidden by the files? With a name on it, too?

Cautiously, Jon pressed down on the tape and heard the wood click and lift from its place. In the seconds when he took his hand away, he briefly entertained the thought that maybe it was a trap and he walked right into it, but alas, nothing happened. He pulled it up gently and, to his surprise, uncovered…

…the biggest stash of weed he’s seen in his life. Sure, he knew a guy who smoked in uni and he’d always have some. Hell, Jon even bought some himself, once. He even smoked with Tim quite recently and had mind-blowing sex. But this? The compartment seemed to be quite deep, surely must’ve gone way down to the second drawer, and it was neatly segregated into categories. The little ziplock baggies were a different colour for each category, but the one that caught Jon’s eye immediately was the biggest baggie at the centre, which was rainbow-coloured and had an eye similar to the one before drawn on it.

He didn’t think long. He probably should have. His hand shot out and he grabbed the biggest baggie and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he gently closed the lid on the secret compartment and began looking through the files.

The form was actually quite easy to find and maybe Jon would have given that particular thing some more thought if the blood wasn’t pumping in his ears so loud. He grabbed it and folded it clumsily, stuffed it into his other pocket and placed the rest of the files back in the drawer. And then he was out of there. He couldn’t get to the archives fast enough.

Tim and Martin were playing rock-paper-scissors when he barged in, breathless. Tim spun in his office chair and gave him a quick once over from bottom to top. He looked unimpressed but Jon knew this was about to change. Martin, on his part, looked like he was about to say something.

So Jon spoke first. “Look what I’ve got,” he said, holding up the baggie.

Martin looked confused. Tim stopped spinning and sat up straighter.

“Gay rights?” he tried.

“Yeah, yeah, gay rights,” Jon replied, impatient. “It’s ominous weed, lads.”

“And we’re gonna…?”

“And we’re gonna smoke it in my office right now.”

“Jon?” Martin sounded unsure. He’d been eyeing the baggie suspiciously for some time now.

“Team building or whatever,” Jon replied and loosened his tie. Tim was already rummaging through his bag, looking for papers. “Look, Martin, you absolutely don’t have to, even though I know for a fact you’re hilarious while high. But I think we deserve a little relaxation after everything that went down.”

“Hell yeah we do!” Tim agreed and Jon could see the papers in his hand. He threw the baggie to him and Tim got to it immediately.

Martin didn’t have anything to add, apparently. Instead he stood up and helped Jon organise their coats and jumpers on the floor so they could sit down semi-comfortably with their backs pressed against Jon’s desk. They settled down with Jon in the middle and Tim and Martin on both his sides, with Tim holding a big, fat joint in a villainous way, like no one ever held a joint in real life.

“Behold!” he said and cackled. Jon smacked him.

Tim retrieved the lighter from his pocket and stopped himself from making any “ignition source in the archives” related jokes and took the first hit. Jon went next. The smoke coated the inside of his throat, heavy and sticky and something like he’s never tasted before, and it felt so good. He passed the joint to Martin, who took a hit and started coughing immediately.

“Oi!” Tim exclaimed and took it from Martin, while Jon patted his back awkwardly. Martin was going very red incredibly fast.

“I’ve seen you smoke before,” Jon said and inhaled again. He could feel his mind grow pleasantly foggy and relaxed. “What is it, Martin?”

“It’s just been a while,” Martin muttered and looked away. Jon almost didn’t want to pass it to him anymore, but he did.

The second try went over smoother and soon enough they were all slouched against Jon’s desk, staring into middle distance.

“Why do you think Elias needs to meet the donors in the middle of the fucking North Sea?” Tim asked and his voice was both comically slow and uncharacteristically high-pitched.

Jon thought about it hard and long, as it was a question of utmost importance. Then the light of truth shone down on him. “He’s fucking a sea captain,” he said plainly.

That made Tim cackle and Martin choke on his cold tea. “No way,” Martin said. “Elias has never fucked in his life, not even once.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t tap that if you had a chance?” Tim asked.

“NO!” Martin and Jon exclaimed at the same time. It was so gross to think about that Martin had to put down his tea and Jon rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Okay, okay,” Tim said, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. “I’m just saying, I could see it if it wasn’t for his scumbag personality. Maybe he and the sea captain never talk?”

“Yeah, still, it’s too fucking extra, even for Elias, to go all the way to the North Sea for a fuck,” Martin said.

“To change the topic slightly,” Jon begun and both Tim and Martin knew what it meant. It wasn’t going to be a slight change from whether Elias was fuckable or not, it was going to be a vent about ants or a monologue on the hierarchy of dolphins. Neither Tim nor Martin could look away from Jon, though, because he was at his most beautiful when he was passionate.

It turned out to be earthworms. Tim listened with one ear while he devoted himself to caressing the side of Jon’s neck with his fingertips, the faintest of touch, really, moving his hand up and down, sometimes venturing into his hair, curling some on his finger, letting go. Martin, on the other hand, propped his chin on Jon’s shoulder and was listening with a dreamy expression on his face, as if Jon was telling him the most beautiful of stories. He also asked questions, which only spurred Jon on.

None of them could tell how much time has passed by the point when Tim got bored of counting Jon’s visible worm scars and set on the mission to roll another joint from the weed they still had left. Jon had somehow produced a cigarette and was waving it around, voice growing louder the more he began to lose his train of thought.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed in the end and let Martin take the rest of his cigarette. “What was I saying, where was I, Tim…”

“Worms,” Tim supplied helpfully, and he brought the joint to his lips.

“Where?!” Martin exclaimed and shot up in his place, almost scrambling to get on his feet and run, but Jon managed to catch him by the hands before that could happen.

“No, no, hush, Martin, it’s okay, settle down,” Jon cooed and laughed and watched as Martin blushed yet again. He was too adorable for his own good. Jon leaned in and pressed a shy kiss to the side of Martin’s mouth, smiling as Martin tried to kiss him back clumsily.

He took a second more to look and kissed him again, properly this time. They were still seated on the floor and Jon turned slightly, and then a bit more, and then gave up on trying to be subtle and climbed into Martin’s lap. Martin’s appreciation vibrated against his lips and he opened his mouth, deepening the kiss, inviting Jon in.

Jon wasn’t the one for physical sensations, in a way that he never cared about them much, something nice, yes, alright, but something one could absolutely deal without. To him, it was all about connection and the feeling of loving and being wanted and in a state like this, the physical and the emotional interconnected and mixed together. It was all feeling and no thinking and that’s what Jon liked the most.

Tim tapped on his shoulder. Jon didn’t break the kiss automatically, only when he heard Tim sigh. When they parted, Martin dipped his head and immediately started kissing and nipping at Jon’s jawline and neck.

“So I stroke your hair for an hour while you talk about earthworms and he gets the kisses because he’s a little scared?” Tim pouted and there was something so genuinely funny about what he was saying and _how_ he was saying it that Jon couldn’t stop himself from giggling.

“Come ‘ere, then,” Jon murmured and twisted slightly on Martin’s lap so he could face Tim better. Tim, of course, made quite a show of walking, _no, crawling_ , almost, towards Jon, and then he pushed himself up to his knees and looked expectantly. There was a heavy moment of tension when both of them just looked and saw each other and then Jon leaned in, closing the distance between them.

Tim and Martin kissed nothing alike and it was a wonderful thing to experience. Where Martin was surprisingly strong a dominant, always a hand in Jon’s hair or on his jaw, Tim was really gentle and yielding. In the moment, he was taking more lead now more than he usually would, growing more desperate and whinier as Jon fought back, not wanting to give up whatever little power he had. A particularly nice kiss on his neck from Martin made him lose his focus, eventually, and Tim bit his lower lip in triumph.

Jon pulled back, then. At this rate, the experience was going to kill him.

“Are you guys hungry?” he asked and cleared his throat. His voice was raspier than usual.

“Thirsty, more like it,” replied Tim while Martin just uttered a plain yes. Jon would have smacked Tim on the arm, but he knew it would only invite more comments. He rolled his eyes instead.

“When aren’t you thirsty, you slut?”

“Love when you talk dir–”

“So anyway I was thinking Vietnamese?” Jon interrupted; his voice causal. He could feel the haze subside, or maybe he was getting used to the state. Either way, whatever it was, it was good. He untangled himself from Martin’s embrace and stood up, stretching. “Oh, and garlic bread, possibly?”

He looked down at the pair still sitting on their piled-up mess of clothes. While Tim was actively pouting and probably seconds away from banging his fists, Martin just looked quietly disappointed and a bit distant. Jon loved teasing them and all the playing hard to get, but he loved seeing them smile more.

“Come on, now” he said, stretching the vowels. “We’ve all been here all day. You always scold me about my eating habits, it’s my turn now. And,” he paused a little for dramatic effect and wiggled his eyebrows, “after we pick up some food, we can have it at mine.”

That sent the boys scrambling up on their knees and for their discarded pieces of clothing. They did the bare minimum of cleaning, gathered what needed to be gathered and were about to leave, Tim reaching for Jon’s hand, when Martin stopped dead in his tracks and looked at them, confused.

“Hold on, Jon, there was something you went for… To Elias’ office?”

“The weed, yes,” Jon replied, nodding sagely.

“No, no,” Martin said, shaking his head. “Like a document? Gertrude?”

It clicked, then. “Ah! Yeah. I’ve got it, yeah.” Jon patted his pocket, where the folded piece of paper still was. “Surprisingly badly hidden and all.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Martin. They stood there for a while in silence until the metaphorical light bulb warmed up and shone bright over Martin’s head.

“Wait… YOU GOT THE WEED FROM WHERE?!”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading x 
> 
> find me on tumblr @hotjonrights and yell at me to write more 
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated sm <3 
> 
> also there will be part 2 :)


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